with the London Symphony Orchestra and the King's College School Choir

Music and lyrics by Jimmy Webb

All organ pieces recorded at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, New York City.

And here is another lovely, lovely book about the birth of Jesus, here on the Third Sunday of Advent. In the Catholic Church we call today "Gaudete Sunday" because in the middle of Advent reflection and preparation, we are reminded to "REJOICE!" Here at the darkest time of the year, the birth of the Savior draws ever closer! And this book describes the rejoicing that took place throughout nature on the night of the Baby's birth. Gorgeous!

So the other night I got a hankering for squash casserole. I know, I know -- who hasn't, am I right? It is true that it's hard to go wrong with a good church suppery squash casserole, but what I really wanted was a particular squash casserole. Good thing I had the recipe.

Back when I was a Methodist, I was in the Miriam Circle -- a women's fellowship group of which I was the youngest member by about eighty-three years. I exaggerate, but not by much. Well, we enjoyed many a dish-to-share meal together over the years, and let me tell you those ladies were some good cookers! Doris's Hello Dollies and Pretzel-Jello salad became staples of my family's holidays; Evelyn made a green bean dish that could not be topped; Mary Jane's peach cobbler could make you weep. But the best church supper dish I have ever had was Ida's squash casserole. And I asked her to teach me how to make it, but she said no. "Sugar, it's in the church cookbook; you know how to read, don't you?"

Church ladies can be snarky, now can't they?

But the other night, when I went to pull the old church cookbook off the shelf, it was gone -- vanished. I have the elementary school fundraiser cookbook, the family reunion cookbook of a family that is not mine (thanks, Tricia!), the Officers' Wives Club cookbook inherited from my mother, and a different church's church cookbook -- from all the way in Oklahoma. I have a cookbook from the Prince William County Police and Fire Fighters Auxiliary (why?). But the crucial cookbook, containing the squash casserole recipe of my dreams? That I do not have.

Well, phhht, I thought to myself. I'll just look on Pinterest. Surely that perfect church supper casserole is on Pinterest . . . . Of course in my Pinterest search, I was sucked down a squash casserole wormhole. Four hours later, I had found some recipes that seemed close to Ida's recipe, and I had formed an opinion about the kind of person who says something like, "this is Paula Deen's recipe -- all I did was exchange the squash for yams and substitute cumin for the garlic and cut the butter by half and add a quart of lobster bisque." Another thing I learned about squash casserole recipes: those church ladies do love their Ritz crackers.

But in the end, the casserole I made from the perfectly acceptable Pinterest recipe I used just wasn't the same. It lacked the indescribable Ida-ness of Ida's squash casserole. I think her casserole has entered a new, mythic realm: in my memory, it is the quintessence of squash casserole, the squash casserole non-pareil, the archetypical embodiment of all that is good in a squash casserole. O squash casserole, we hardly knew ye!

So -- do you know the story about how Ernest Hemingway asked his wife to meet him in the south of France? She was to take the train from Paris and bring along his briefcase, which was filled with in-progress drafts of stories that he wanted to work on. Well, poor Mrs. Hemingway lost the briefcase, and Ernest never really got over the loss -- for the rest of his life he referred to those lost story drafts as the best work he had ever done. They were the quintessence of story, each draft was a story non-pareil; the briefcase had contained stories that were collectively the archetypical embodiment of all that is good in fiction and the craft of writing. And they were gone forever.

Well, so I am working on changing up my blogging habits -- by which I mean I decided that I need to get off my ass and actually write something. Now that all of the urchins are out of the house, the focus of my attention is not so much on the antics of the girl in charge or the snarky brilliance of the sunny girl or the tall boy's healthy lungs. And it seems to me that a new blog focus needs a new blog look.

So -- please forgive my messy construction site while I experiment with this new way of doing things. And let me know what you think!

So here I am closing in on the end of January. But before I move forward I do want to show you one look back -- as I face the eternal dilemma. It's important, y'all.

Here is the question that everyone should be lucky enough to face. When contemplating peanut brittle, do you stand up for the pulled brittle (a la Nano) or are you a poured brittle fan (Susan, we revere your name)?

Now, some of you may wonder, because brittle is good. Who cares beyond this? And I am going to say that my own political stance is always toward compromise and peace and ways we all agree. So yes. Plus -- I have never encountered bad peanut brittle.

But I do feel the need to address the eternal debate.

*********

There is a vocal Nano faction that tells me:

1. Nano (some may remember her as Sadie Forsythe, but you can call her Nano.)

2. Sadie's pulled brittle is light and airy, and one doesn't ever have to worry about breaking a tooth.

3. Coleen has mastered her grandmother's top-secret recipe and technique, so that the brittle she produces is Sadie-esque in every good way.

3. The left-over delicious sugary bits are so awesome on ice cream or stirred into coffee, . . .

4. Nano.

*********

But my poured brittle friends are also quite vocal, and they make an excellent point or two.

2. My girl Susan has mastered the poured brittle that will not break your teeth. I do believe that most of us who think about poured brittle are thinking about a brittle that lacks the airy gorgeousness of Susan's brittle.

3. Susan's brittle = [ angelic choirs? orgasmic sugar rush? you will just have to take my word for it. ]

"The Nativity" (circa 1500), based on a lost painting by the Flemish painter Hugo van der Goes.

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them; and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."